Thursday, 16 March 2017

Saint Patrick's Wild Stallion In Times Square

I’ve seen many a St. Patrick’s Day – mostly playing in a
band atop a large stage, amidst a swirl of action but removed enough so that
the forest can be clearly distinguished from the trees.

Where to begin?I suppose in the metropolis of Wexford where St. Patrick’s Day was at
best an insipid dud. With not much else going on in March we’d line up on the
Quayside and watch the Confraternity men and Legion of Mary ladies parade by in
a murmur of rosaries, accompanied by the local FCA (Army Reserve) who at least
marched in time.

The lack of alcohol, however, weighed heavily on both
marchers and observers, as pubs back then closed for our national feast day.

At my first New York St. Patrick’s Day Parade I felt I had
stepped into Caligula’s Rome. Though quite early in the morning the bacchanal
was already in full swing – not just booze either, but weed wafted gently by on
the cool breezes of Fifth Avenue. Sex, too, was in the air as leggy drum
majorettes kicked for the skies and suburban high school kids made out with
vigor in fashionable retail doorways.

Later that night in Tomorrow’s Lounge, Bay Ridge, I had one
of the best gigs of my life as Turner & Kirwan of Wexford shook the
considerable dust off the rafters. In truth we could have played Enya-on-Ambien
dirges and the packed house would have roared along with gusto. To top it all
we got paid double!

It was then I realized that on St. Patrick’s Night a band
mounts a wild stallion. All you have to do is hold on to its mane, dig in the
spurs, and off you go with the flow!

The following year, however in our innocence, Turner &
Kirwan played ten 40-minute sets in Manchester, NH and received sweet damn all
bonus. Somewhat miffed we invited the friskier looking part of our audience
back to a party in a house that had been lent to us.

I will not bore you with the salacious details; suffice it
to say we left Manchester in somewhat of a cloud. So much so that when I
returned many years later with Black 47 I had to put forth that the Kirwan
playing with the disgraced duo from Wexford had been my Uncle Larry.

There was never a need for such white lies in New York City
on March 17th. For one thing, no one would be crazy enough to give
Black 47 a loan of their house on that sainted liquid evening.

Not that there weren’t hiccups. One night in a shadowy
corridor of the Letterman Show, fatigued and overwhelmed, I thought I had lost
my mind when assaulted by a battery of little people dressed as leprechauns who
were merely seeking autographs.

Another year on the Conan O’Brien Show I almost had a heart
attack when I forgot a line from our song James Connolly on national TV.

But there were triumphs too. I can still feel the crowd and
band meld together into one tightly clenched fist when I hear our Live in New
York City CD recorded on St. Patrick’s Day in the late lamented Wetlands club.

I thought I might give the whole thing a break when Black 47
disbanded, but BB King’s on 42nd Street wanted the real rockin’ New
York Irish music experience again, so I’m back in the game with a new kick-arse
band for a night.

Cáit O’Riordan of The Pogues and Chris Byrne of Black 47
will join us for some songs. Lia Fail Pipes and Drums from Mercer County will
kick off the evening. Pat McGuire, our old comrade from Spéir Mor and Paddy
Reilly’s days will team up with Geoff Blythe of Black 47 to do a set; and my son, Rory K, the hip-hop artist, will jam
the grooves with Celtic themes like Fresh Off The Boat – dear God how did I
beget a rapper – perhaps it’s karma for Uncle Larry’s long-ago wild night in
Manchester?

Whatever! See you at BB’s in Times Square when we mount that
St. Patrick’s Night wild stallion one more time. Bring your spurs!

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